Undream the Echoes

Liam
03.14.2005

“Why are you here today, Liam?” the doctor asks. He always starts out the conversation like this, even though this is probably the twentieth time I’ve come here. I always do the same thing: I shift in my chair and stare out the window, searching for a good answer. One time I was in an especially bad mood and I replied with, “What the hell do you think I’m here for? I’m fucking dying.” The doctor didn’t say anything to that. I mean, I guess he can’t. Psychiatrists aren’t here to talk back to you; they’re here to listen. Which is nice.

But I usually say something dumb, like, “Oh you know, I just want to talk.” And I don’t mean that in a bitter or sarcastic way; I really do want to talk. There are things I need to say that I must get off my chest, things that I couldn’t bear to tell Elle. It would crush her.

Today I say, “This is the last time I’ll be coming here.”

The doctor raises his triangle-shaped eyebrows which are so oddly perfect that I think he might pluck them. He seems like the sort of rich guy who’s so pompous that he gets manicures on a weekly basis. Or maybe he’s just gay. Who knows. I’ve barely gotten to know this guy in the two months I’ve been coming here, despite the fact that I bet he’s figured me out completely.

“And why is that?” he asks.

I shrug and look out the window. Geese are flying by in a V-shape and through the window I can hear their obnoxious honking. I always wondered why birds can chirp so pretty but geese were cursed with the awful sounds they make. Then I realize I’m just trying to distract myself and I bring my attention back to the psychiatrist, who’s staring at me through his glasses patiently.

“Elle says it’s wasting my time,” I reply, “and I agree.”

“You don’t think these sessions are helping you?” the doctor inquires.

“Well, yeah, they are,” I say. “It’s good to rant about things sometimes. I can bitch and moan about anything I want and you just sit here and deal with it. I guess that’s what I pay you for, though.” I let out a hollow laugh. “But I’ve been here three times this month, seven times last month, ten in February, and who knows how many other times. I want to spend my time with Elle instead. Besides, we have to save up money, for the…”

“For the baby,” my doctor finished for me.

I swallow and nod. “Yeah. That.” It’s still a touchy subject for me. When I’m around Elle, I am always acting encouraging and happy, even though all that pretending kills me so much on the inside. But I need to make sure she keeps moving forward. I need to make sure she and the baby will be okay without me. In reality, it’s murder watching her like this. Everyday her belly grows larger and larger as I get closer and closer to my deathbed.

I can talk to my unborn child through Elle’s stomach; I have heard my child’s heartbeat during ultrasounds; I have even been kicked in the jaw when I was resting my head over the globe that is Elle’s stomach…I can do all of these things, but I won’t make it for my child’s birth. I will never see this baby in person. I will never be able to cradle my baby or sing it to sleep or watch its first footsteps…

My thoughts are interrupted as a sharp pain erupts in my chest. It passes as quickly as it arrives, and it’s really not that bad, but I know it’s a bad sign. The doctors said I would be in more pain as my time got closer. Of course, if it gets too bad, they’ll just give me meds…but I’ve been refusing them so far. I want to be as sober as possible for all of this. I want to be able to appreciate everything.

“I’m getting worse, too,” I add. “That’s my other reason for leaving. I don’t have that much longer anyway. The docs have narrowed down my time left, since they’ve been able to do more tests as the cancer progressed…”

“And?”

“I’ve only got a few more months.”

Elle
03.14.2005

“Hi baby,” I murmur softly and run my hands over my stomach.

Liam’s at the psychiatrist again. It bothers me that he’s always going there; what’s he telling that stranger that he can’t tell me? He’s always acting so brave and optimistic – which I know is an act (at least the optimistic part is) – and I’m worried about how he actually feels. I want to know these things. He’s annoying me by trying to protect me this much. He needs to know that I don’t care if what he tells me hurts me or frightens me. I want to know. I want to know because I love him.

To soothe my senses (and my sore feet) I have decided to take a bubble bath. My stomach isn’t too big yet, but it’s large enough to break the surface of the water as I lay on my back. I have never wished to have X-ray vision so badly in my life, not even when I was eight and wanted to be Superman. I want to see my baby. I want to know what she looks like.

Okay, well, I don’t actually know if it’s actually a ‘she’ yet or not. I want it to be a surprise…but I know anyway. I didn’t ask the doctor or anything, though. I just know.

Liam doesn’t want to know the gender either, because I think it helps him cope. If he still thinks of the baby as an it, then he won’t become too attached, and it will be easier for him. But he already is too attached. So am I. It’s so sad. I cry myself to sleep sometimes just thinking about it.

The baby kicks in response to my greeting. I smile despite all my sorrows and put my hand over where her foot is, and then where her head is supposed to be. “I’m going to eat a roast beef sandwich for lunch,” I say conversationally. “Maybe two. With lettuce and tomato. And lots of mayonnaise.” My mouth waters at this thought. “I used to hate roast beef, you know,” I go on. “I couldn’t stand the taste after I got a stomach bug in middle school the same day I had roast beef for lunch…the taste of rotting meat was in my throat for the next twenty-four hours as I puked up my guts.” She kicks me, this time a lot harder than before. “Sorry. You probably didn’t want to know that. Well anyway, you’re a weird little baby, you know that? You give me the oddest cravings. You should stop. And for future reference, wanting pickles and milk at four in the morning is not an okay thing for you to do to me.”

I feel a fluttering as my baby moves. “What are you doing in there, working out? Let mommy rest. You’re making me feel a little nauseous and I just got rid of my morning sickness, damn it. And I really want to be able to eat those sandwiches, too.” I sigh. “You know, I really wish you could meet your dad,” I whisper. It’s a strange thought, thinking of Liam as a dad. I remember meeting him six years ago at the grocery store. (Ha, and I was so damn convinced I was going to marry him. What can I say, I’m always right.) I would have never pictured him as a good father. But I do now. I can imagine our daughter running towards him, giggling as he scoops her up and tosses her playfully in the air…I can imagine him falling asleep with our baby cradled in his arms…I can imagine how tired he’s going to be when I make him take care of her in the middle of the night, since I know I’ll be too lazy to get up and do it myself…and I can imagine the face he’ll make when he changes her first diaper.

But none of that is ever going to happen.

“I’m going to miss him a lot,” I continue. “I’m apologizing in advance if I’m sad all the time. I won’t be able to help it. If you knew him, you’d understand too. And I’m sorry you’re only going to grow up with one parent. I didn’t have to do that but I heard it sort of sucks. I’ll love you enough though, I promise. We’re going to have fun.”

I dunk my head under the now lukewarm water and when I resurface, I need to wipe the bubbles from my face. “It’s just not fair, you know, baby?” I say softly. “It’s not fair to you because you’ll never get to know the greatest man that ever lived. And it’s not fair to me because I did get to meet him and I had to lose him. I mean, he’s the one who I’ve been waiting for my entire life. And now he’s leaving me. He’s leaving me.”

The baby doesn’t kick for a while and I think maybe she’s sleeping. The sound of my heartbeat and the vibrations of my voice are basically a lullaby for her. Not willing to leave the bathtub yet, I sink lower in the water. I turn on the hot water with my toe so that it warms up again.

“Hey.”

I haven’t realized I’ve dozed off until I hear his voice. I snap my eyes open and realize that I kept the faucet running and now the bathtub is so full that water’s spilling over the side. “Oh shit!” I cry out and turn the water off immediately. “I’m sorry. Damn!”

“It’s all right,” Liam shrugs and makes his way over to the side of the bathtub. “I’ll clean it up.” He sits down next to the tub and places a large hand on my stomach.

“You’re getting your pants wet, you know – ooh,” I say as the baby kicks especially hard. “She says hi,” I say and smile.

He smiles in return. “She?” he then asks curiously, his amber eyes moving from our baby to my face. “Yesterday you called it a he. Did you find out the sex yet? You cheater.”

“No, I didn’t ask, don’t worry. I just enjoy confusing you.”

He rolls his eyes and splashes me with some water. We laugh harmoniously but soon our chuckles fade to nothingness. He looks at me and I look at him.

“I love you,” I murmur.

“I love you too.”

“I’m going to miss you, you stupid asshole.”

He kisses my belly button. The baby moves again. “I know,” he mumbles into my skin. “Elle…” he says and lifts his head up to gaze at me. “Elle, I’m scared.”

I place a hand on his cheek. “Me too,” I whisper.